Molly

The man followed them for three blocks. At first, Linda folded herself into Sam’s blazer, knocking her knees into a triangle, molding her body to his. Willing the stranger far into the butter of night.
A city square later, in the musk of the bar, sipping a lukewarm draft, Linda lied and whispered that she hadn’t been worried at all. Her stomach wormed; festered.
Her brother’s retreat washing wane across her eyelids.